Erica Nidhogg/Vendetta

From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe

((Alrighty, I'm currently working on this story so bear with me. This story in three parts takes place shortly before the second Rikti invasion right as Erica outleveled Croatoa. It's a work in progress but it should be done fairly soon.))

Part 1: Resistance Hi.

I'm Erica Nidhogg and I'm a superheroine. Not like you think, though. I don't wear a cape or have a secret identity. That last one really isn't possible for me. Even in a crowd I stand out and, frankly, it'd take more than just a pair of glasses to hide me. Among other things, I'm nearly eight feet tall and a rather pleasant shade of gold.

I prefer to think of it as a job. I'm just another working professional trying to make her mark on the world. At least, that's how I prefer to label it in conversation. Reality is a bit more complicated. The reality is that it's part of the terms of my probation. When I first made the jump from plain old "factory original" human to super or meta or posthuman or whatever you want to call it, I lost my cool. I hate to go into specifics. It's something I'm really not proud of but I hurt some people and broke some things and I'm lucky that it wasn't worse. It's also how lots of supervillains got their start. They make a mistake and run straight from one desperate situation to the next. If they weren't bad people before, it's only a matter of time before they adapt to circumstance. At twenty-one, I found myself caught in a classic supervillain development cycle.

I guess this is what makes me a hero: I took responsibility. I didn't mean to hurt anyone and I certainly didn't want to but it happened and no amount of wishful thinking was going to change things. I retrospect, I think the lesson (if there is one) is that even though you can't change the past, the future hasn't happened yet.

Or maybe that life sometimes just jumps up and bites you in the ass.

I wasn't thinking that at the time, though. It made big news back in Philadelphia. The media was all over it from when the incident happened to the trial. I just wanted it all done and over with but it made quite the spectacle. There I was, a scared not-quite-adult who had become something strange and frightening; sitting in heavy duty restraints and bawling her eyes out for all the local affiliates to see. Half out of fear and half out of sorrow, I pled guilty and waited for the sentence to come down. Maybe it was pity or just the fact that up until that moment I'd been a court employee but I got my first spot of good luck in weeks. Probation, contingent upon service as a registered super heroine, for five years.

Go directly to a Hero Corps training program, do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars.

After that, the state of Pennsylvania was kind of done for me. Or with me depending on how you look at it. I filed a petition with the court for permission to move and sold my car. It was a little hatchback coupe. It wan't like I could even fit in the damn thing anymore, anyway. Paragon City was the obvious choice with the highest per capita concentration of powered individuals on the planet.

I picked up stakes and prepared to build a new life for myself in the Skyway City neighborhood. Unfortunately, Skyway City didn't pan out quite how I would have liked. It was too... ordinary. I still got the mistrusting glares, the feeling of wide eyes glued to my skin and I hate that more than anything even if I can understand it.

To start, I've got a wingspan of ten feet.

Yes, wings. Great big leathery wings with a tail to match. Most young, working professionals don't have horns, spikes that slide out of their knuckles or the curious inability to eat anything that doesn't come from an animal. That last part shows, too. I used to have this goofy grin made even more akward by the braces I used to wear. Now instead of all the wiring, there's just this long, jagged zig-zag. They're obviously meant for tearing rather than chewing and that unnerves most people. I've had to train myself into this weird little smirk just to blunt the effect of the total picture. It helps a little but I still freak people out.

This isn't what I want. I've never been an outgoing person in the slightest sense. I don't do interviews, blog or hang around for the TV cameras after a mission nor do I do endorsements. At the heart of it, I'm nothing if not shy and one thing I hope more than anything? That noone will ever read this but me. Even with all that, though, I miss being able to talk to other people as an equal. I can't just strike up a conversation with someone without first overcoming that guttural fear that comes with an encounter with a large, solitary predator. Let's face it, that's functionally what I am and it's a fine line between a super power and a chronic medical condition.

((Under Construction. Please pardon the dust))